


Aphorism

by onelongwinter



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Branding, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelongwinter/pseuds/onelongwinter
Summary: As a child, Ashe learned that words have power. They brought him to Lord Lonato, and they got his family off the street, and they're the reason why he was able to come to Garreg Mach. Words have changed his life for the better. But that power can be used for evil, too, and it would only take one word to bring it all crashing down around him. And that word is burned into his skin, an ugly reminder of who he used to be.An AU where Ashe was branded a thief as punishment.
Comments: 76
Kudos: 328





	1. Prologue

His feet swing above the floor, new shoes pinching at his skin. He hasn’t had new shoes since his parents died, just more and more rags wrapped and tied around them until they were more rags then leather. He’s been so used to the discomfort of having nothing, that he’s a little shocked at how sometimes having something can hurt, too. Like the sweet buns he ate yesterday that were so rich he couldn’t keep them down, or how the chambermaid pulled and yanked at his hair before finally taking a pair of scissors to them. 

So now his feet hurt and his stomach is doing flips and his hair is uneven and shaggy. But he’s happy, which is something he doesn’t know if he’s really, truly felt in years. The library is safe, in a way he hasn’t been safe since his parents were still alive. 

It’s warm, and the glow of candlelight dances across the beautiful bindings. It smells like books, too, aged paper and ink and to him it must be the smell of Good Things, because books and letters and stories brought him here, after all. 

They brought him and his siblings off the streets, here to this warm place full of food and soft beds and Lord Lonato and Christophe, too. Words are powerful, and they are Good, Ashe decides. 

Christophe hums absentmindedly as he watches Ashe awkwardly and methodically copies the letters he’s been teaching him. 

“You’re really fast at this,” he says. “Dad mentioned you were talented, but I didn’t expect you were this good!”

Praise was something that hadn’t often come to him on the streets, and he leans into it the same way a plant leans toward the sun. He grins bashfully and ducks his head down to hide his blush, but Christophe sees it and laughs all the same. He ruffles his hair and calls over to Lord Lonato. 

“Dad, come and see how well Ashe is doing!” Lord Lonato chuckles and sits down across from him, checking his work. 

“A little sloppy,” he says, still pushing him to improve, but still kind. “But you’ve come very far in such a short amount of time.” 

Lonato pulls a book out from behind his back. 

“As a reward, I have a new story for you tonight,” he says, and Christophe takes a peek at the cover and a grin slowly spreads across his face. 

“Oh, that’s a good one,” he says conspiratorially to Ashe, and he leans over to look at the cover. The cover is illuminated beautifully, with princesses and knights and bandits. As he admires it, something catches his eye. 

“I know that word!” He says excitedly. “I’ve seen that one before!” He can read an “e” and an “i”, but the shapes themselves are as familiar to him as siblings’ faces. Lonato looks puzzled, gaze flitting between the cover and Ashe. 

“I’m glad to see that you’re picking it quickly,” he says, slowly. “Where have you seen it before?”

Ashe bounces in his chair, rolling up his sleeve. He proudly displays his arm to the two of them. 

“Right here! It hurt a lot, when it happened, but I never knew what it said before!” 

The warmth of the room immediately fades, as Lonato lunges forward. Ink spills out over the table, spreading out over the letters he’s worked so hard to write, seeping into the cover of the book and spilling out onto the floor. Christope is frozen, face filled with shock as Lonato grabs Ashe’s shoulders and pulls him in close. 

“Ashe, listen to me,” he says, voice low and urgent. 

“You’re hurting me,” he whispers, and Lonato loosens his grip, but the intensity in his face doesn’t fade. 

“Ashe, you need to promise me something,” he says, and his voice is urgent. “Promise me you’ll never show that to anyone. For your own safety. _Please_ , Ashe.” 

“I promise,” he says, and some of the worry in Lonato’s face seems to fade. “But what does it say?”

“It says, ‘Thief,’ Ashe,” Christophe says, and his voice is so, so sad. It’s the same sadness when his little siblings get nightmares, or when Ashe tells him about all the normal, but maybe still terrible, things he saw on the streets of Gaspard. It’s the same sadness when his sister tells him she’s never had a bed before, and when Ashe gets sick from too much food. 

He understands, then, that he was right, and words really do have power. But it’s the first time he realizes that it can be bad, too. 


	2. Chapter 1

It starts with a snap. It’s loud and it echoes across the grounds of the courtyard, as the Blue Lion class huddles around their classroom. Dimitri lets out a soft little, “No!” a cross between a frustrated growl and an embarrassed whimper. Ashe can see Claude craning his neck over by the Golden Deer classroom, doing his best and failing not to stare at the broken key glinting in Dimitri’s hand. 

“So, no class today?” Sylvain jokes, and Dimitri is too busy despairing to admonish him. That’s a bad sign, Ashe notes. 

“There has to be another key,” Annette says, doing her best to console him. Dimitri is flushing a particularly bright shade of pink, all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Maybe the Professor has a spare?”

“Um,” says Ashe, a little too quietly. 

“This is a waste of time,” Felix complains. “Don’t stop with just the key, go ahead and break the door down too, boar.”

“Felix, don’t say that,” Ingrid scolds, and Ashe clears his throat, just a little bit. 

“Um,” he says again. 

“I think we should listen to Ashe’s suggestion,” Dedue announces, and luckily, everyone turns to face him. 

“I can get us in. Let me go get my stuff,” Ashe stammers. “I’ll be back in just a second.” 

He sprints back to his room, digging through his desk. He’s barely out of breath when he returns, he notes with pride. He’s really grown a lot since he came to Garreg Mach. It’s something good that’s happened this year, if not the only thing. 

It’s a good thing he’s quick, because he’s sure Felix would have started a brawl. The other houses aren’t exactly gawking at them, but they are unusually quiet, as if listening to their misfortune. 

He carefully lays out his tools, squats down, and examines the lock. It’s old, and rather simple. The school isn’t exactly concerned with security, what with the knights. Plus, it’s not like there are many valuables kept in the Officer’s Academy. Unless someone desperately wants to steal some ink pots and trigonometry textbooks. 

Ashe selects a tool, and gently slides the thin metal into the hole. He’s cracked so many locks like this he doesn’t even have to think as he works. There’s a click, and the door swings open, He sits back on his haunches, satisfied. 

When the Professor had asked him to put his skills to work in the field, he’d been hesitant. But Lonato had always told him it was important to use his gifts to help others, and he’s glad he did. It’s nice knowing that something that he had used to hurt people could help others, too. 

“Woooow! You gotta show me how to do that, Ashe!” A loud, cheerful voice booms in his ear, and he jumps in shock. 

“Caspar!” He gasps out. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I just had to check out the commotion out here! That was so cool! Where’d you learn to do that?” He says, and Caspar is cheerful and bright and absolutely overwhelming. 

“Oh, I just picked it up, you know?” He says. The skin on his bicep is beginning to itch, and it takes all of his willpower not to reach up and scratch it. Luckily, Dimitri seems to pick up on his discomfort, and steps in. 

“Thank you for looking out for us, Caspar. It’s a good thing we had Ashe around, or we might really have been in trouble. Of course, we don’t want to be taking up your practice time! I know how serious you are…” Caspar, earnest as ever, takes it completely at face value. 

“Oh, you’re right! I didn’t realize how late it got. Hey Ashe, they say the sauna is gonna reopen next week, let’s go when it does! See ya!” 

“The sauna…” Ashe says weakly, as Mercedes kindly helps him to his feet, but Caspar is already gone, and the skin on his arm burns like fire. 

* * *

Everyone seems to be enjoying the sauna, which is nice. Sylvain complains about the heat, and one time Mercedes forgot to change back and walked all the way across campus in a towel, which caused a stir. At the very least, watching Dimitri chase her down to awkwardly cover her with his cape was amusing, if not so embarrassing to watch that he thought he might explode. 

Still, Ashe is starting to run out of excuses to skip out. He’s signed himself up for so many additional chores he’s starting to run out of free time, and has feigned both fevers and chills. His classmates have already been worried about him since… well, he can’t bear to think about it now. But now they’re even more worried, which is the opposite of what he wanted. 

He just needs to last out the school year, and everything will be fine. He locks the door to his room, and sighs, shrugging out of his jacket. Just a few, well, now that he counts them, several more months of dodging everyone’s sauna hangout requests. Maybe once the novelty wears off, but then the weather will get cold and everyone will want to stay warm… He groans and collapses on his bed. There’s no way he’ll be able to hide it that long. 

He pulls his hoodie over his head and twists his arm around to examine it. It cuts across the skin of his bicep, ugly and stiff. There, branded into his skin is the first word he ever learned how to read: “Thief.” 

He traces his fingers over it and grimaces. He hates looking at the thing. It’s a horrific mark of shame, which he supposes is the point, in the end. A punishment for a child too young and desperate to understand. 

There’s a knock on the door, and he jumps in shock, covering it up again. 

“C-come on in!” 

Prince Dimitri opens the door and pokes his head in. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for startling you, Ashe! I can come back later, if you’d prefer…”

“No, it’s perfectly fine, Your High- I mean Dimit-” To his credit, Dimitri stands there and doesn’t comment on Ashe’s awkwardness. 

“I’ve noticed that you’ve been avoiding our classmates recently, and I just wanted to check in on you,” he says, and Ashe jumps again, mind churning as he desperately tries to come up with an excuse. Difficulty with classes? No, that would just lead to study session and late night bathing. Should he use Lonato as an excuse? The thought makes him feel even worse. His classmates have been so kind and tactful about it, and it would be so disrespectful-

“I wanted to let you know that they do keep the sauna open after hours for students who request it,” Dimitri says, kindly cutting through Ashe’s rapidly spinning out of control thoughts. 

“I- what?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume, I just noticed your discomfort whenever we talk about going,” he says, and he looks like a kicked puppy. “My sincerest apologies.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” Ashe protests. “You’ve really hit the nail on the head, I’m afraid. Am I really that obvious?”

“No, not at all,” He says, which is probably a lie. His Highness is just too nice to tell him to his face, Ashe thinks. “I only noticed because I tend to do the same thing, myself.”

Ashe looks at him in surprise. He looks away, and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, the prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus just might be as awkward as he is. 

“Dedue and I often go late at night, ourselves. I… have a lot of scars, and I don’t wish to make others uncomfortable,” Dimitri says, grimacing slightly. “If you’d like to come with us, you are always welcome-”

“No,” Ashe blurts out. His face starts burning. He’s just interrupted the crown prince, Lonato would be so horrified. “I mean, um, thank you for your kind invitation, but I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially on something so… personal?”

Dimitri seems to be both disappointed and relieved at the rejection, which is a strange combination of emotions Ashe can unfortunately relate to. 

“Well, if you ever change your mind, you are always welcome,” Dimitri says, moving to leave. “If you ever need to talk, about anything... “

Ashe knows exactly what he’s talking about, and truthfully, he does want to. But Dimitri is the last person he would want to spill his guts to. He can barely have a real conversation with him about the most mundane things, and the last thing he would want is to become a stammering, snivelling mess in front of his future king. 

“...I am always here for you, Ashe,” Dimitri says gently. “And everyone in the Blue Lion House feels the same.” 

“Thank you, Your High-Dimitri,” Ashe says, and Dimitri takes his leave. The worst part is that he knows that his classmates are kind and caring people. Even Felix, who does everything in his power to avoid showing it. He just doesn’t know if they’d still feel that way if they knew the truth. 

* * *

Dedue doesn’t bring it up as they chop vegetables, which is nice. The kitchen is usually their escape, despite how busy and noisy it can be. Maybe it’s because it’s so much easier for the two of them to blend into the background, and hands quick and practiced as the talk. 

At least, it’s supposed to be like that. But the hair on the back of his neck stands up and his skin crawls, because today, they have a guest. Caspar bites into a Noa fruit, scrutinizing the entire kitchen. He bites back a sharp remark, busying himself with the work in front of him. Dedue doesn’t say anything, but quirks an eyebrow up at him. He’s been scowling, and hasn’t even realized it. 

“Is everything alright? I thought the two of you were friends?” Dedue says, mouth barely moving. Ashe sighs a little, his knife work a little more angry and sloppy than usual. 

“We got into a fight, it’s no big deal,” he whispers back, looking up to make sure Caspar hasn’t heard them. He meets eyes with him from across the room and Caspar gives him a sunny smile, fruit juice running down his chin. He manages a pale imitation of it back. 

“What did you fight about?”

“You remember the pantry thief I told you about, right? Caspar thinks we should have caught and killed them,” Ashe says. “Just like that! On the spot! I mean, really?”

“Ah,” Dedue says. “Yes, I can see why that would cause… issues.” 

“I just can’t agree with that,” Ashe says, a little surprised by the venom in his voice. “I can’t believe in a world where we refuse to give others the benefit of the doubt. I mean, what if they were starving?”

“I wish the rest of the world was as kind as you, Ashe,” Dedue says softly. “I can understand why Caspar would think the way he would. Punish the wrongdoer, prevent anyone else from suffering… it has an appeal to it.” 

Ashe watches him as talks, noting the sadness in his eyes. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought this up, he thinks, but Dedue continues. 

“Even so, there are so many chances for error with an approach like that. Whether the person you have is completely guilty. Whether the crime fits the punishment. Whether there is a chance that in your haste, you are destroying the chance that they could ever change, and that perhaps, the good they might do would outweigh the harm they have caused,” he says, laying down his knife. “Unfortunately, I do not believe you can change his mind so easily. He is very… steadfast.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ashe says glumly. “I’ve been avoiding him recently, truthfully. I’d rather not get into it with him again.”

“Well,” Dedue says, deadpan. “Here he comes.” 

“Ashe! Kitchen duty again? Clever, getting yourself into the thick of things gives you a brand new perspective! I hadn’t thought of infiltrating like that!” Caspar says, leaning against the counter next to him. “And hello to you too, Dedue! How have you been?”

“I’ve been well,” Dedue says, giving Ashe a pointed look as Caspar takes another bite of fruit.

“I’m not infiltrating, Caspar,” Ashe says. “I have cooking duty today. And I like cooking.”

“I’m really, really bad at cooking,” Caspar confesses, looking a little downtrodden. “I’ve pretty much been banned. You’re so good at it though, I’ll admit I’m kinda jealous!”

“It’s just practice, same as any sort of training, you know.”

“Maybe I should get into it, it’ll definitely come in handy in the future! Plus it’ll give me a good excuse for scouting out the kitchen,” He says. His voice drops conspiratorially. “Notice any suspicious characters around, lately?”

“Even if I did,” Ashe says, focusing intently on his cutting board. “I wouldn’t tell you. I thought this was supposed to be a contest, after all.” 

Caspar pouts a little. “Well yeah, but still! Last thing we want is for a criminal to evade justice!”

 _I’d rather they do than face your idea of ‘justice’,_ Ashe wants to say, but he bites back the retort. He’d rather not start a shouting match in the middle of the kitchen, right in front of his best friend. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says instead, keeping his voice casual. “But completely honestly, I haven’t heard anything new about our thief.” 

“Yeah, me neither,” Caspar says. “Maybe they’ve moved on to other targets?”

“It would be too risky to steal from the same place once you’ve been discovered,” he says, unthinkingly. “It’s better to change up your pattern, move around a lot. It’s safer that way.”

Caspar gives a low whistle, and Ashe jumps. He’s said too much. Far too much. 

“Ashe, you really are smart,” he says. “Where’d you learn all this?”

“Um…” His brain races, thinking desperately for an answer. 

“Ashe reads a lot,” Dedue chimes in. “You can learn a lot from books. Different people, their ways of life… The monastery library has a wide variety.”

“Of course! I should have thought of that! I should ask Linhardt for some advice, maybe he knows some good mysteries… that should help with my investigation! Thanks!” Caspar waves goodbye to the two of them and trots out of the kitchen. Ashe collapse on the kitchen counter, and makes a little noise of gratitude as Dedue pats his back.

“Thank you,” Ashe says, cooling his cheek against the cold wood of the counter. It’s suddenly very, very hot in the kitchen, he thinks. “That was some quick thinking.”

“Part of being a good retainer means getting rid of people who might be bothering your liege. I hear Hubert uses more… unsavory methods. I have my own ways,” Dedue says. “You look stressed. How about I finish up here, and you go rest?”

“Thank you, Dedue,” Ashe says. “For everything.” 

He slips out the back door of the kitchen, and his head is pounding. He can’t go on like this, he thinks, rubbing his temples with a groan. He needs time to relax. 

* * *

It’s easy to pick out Dedue and Dimitri’s voices on their way back from the sauna. He waits until they pass in front of his door, before he slips out and makes his way down the road. Ashe is no Shamir, but he’s always been light footed, even after he no longer needed to be. He’ll never forget the first time he’d crept down to the kitchen in Gaspard Castle and frightened Christophe so much he’d knocked over a whole tray of dishes. 

He can’t help but smile at the memory. Christophe had laughed so hard when he’d found out who the “ghost” really was, and had borne the brunt of the cook’s scolding, in between her doting upon him and his siblings. 

Gaspard Castle must be sad now, he thinks as he climbs the stairs. He knows his family, and the staff are safe, now that everything has been taken over by House Rowe. At least they won’t be homeless again. 

The guard at the sauna nods to him and smiles. Dimitri must have let him know someone else might be coming tonight. Ashe slips into the changing room and sighs, letting the warmth of the building sink into him. Steam seeps out from under the door, and there’s a scent of herbs drifting in the air. Everyone wasn’t exaggerating when they said it was calming, and he can feel the tension in his muscles already begin to fade. 

He shrugs out of his uniform jacket, and strips off his hoodie. He’s wearing far too many layers for the heat, and with each one that falls to the ground, he feels a little freer. He’s _missed_ this - not having to constantly hide himself, except for the privacy of his own room. He yawns, slowly rolling his head to stretch out his neck. 

There’s a noise behind him, and time slows. It’s another student, not someone he recognizes. 

“I think I forgot my bag-?” He says, and his voice sounds muddled, and far away. His eyes slowly move downwards, passing over Ashe’s body, but Ashe is far slower, too slow to move, too slow to hide. 

His eyebrows raise, eyes widen. He watches in horror, body moving slower than molasses, as the student stops speaking, his mouth slowly forming a perfect little “oh” of surprise. 

Then time starts again, and the student is gone, slamming the door behind him. He barely has the presence of mind to shove his hoodie over his head and grab his bag before he’s gone, too, The guard raises his hand in surprise, and he probably says something, but he can’t hear anything now. He sprints down the stairs, taking them two at a time, still light footed and quiet, even in his panic. The thief in him still knows how not to get caught. 

He doesn’t know how he got back to his room. He slams the door shut, collapsing and sinking down to the ground, legs numb. His mouth is drier than the Sreng Desert, and it’s over. For the second time this year, his life is falling to pieces in front of him. Maybe there’s a way he can fix this, maybe there’s a way he can turn it all around, pick everything back up, but his brain isn’t working right now. 

His heart is beating so fast and hard it’s drowning out everything, everything except one terrified, frantic thought. 

_Someone saw, someone saw, someone saw._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, Caspar!


	3. Chapter 2

Caspar wakes up early, and does what he does every morning. He stretches out on his bedroom floor, feeling his joints crack and pop satisfyingly. Then it’s a quick jog around the monastery, through the grounds and around the gardens, a short stop by the stable to say hello to whoever’s got morning horse duty, and an early breakfast at the marketplace.

He doesn’t stop, jogging in place as he hands over some coins for a roll instead, and then he’s off again, ready for lap two. Briefly, he thinks about waking up Linhardt to run with him, but the thought makes him snort with laughter. He’s only seen him run when he’s trying to escape from doing something.

Maybe he can convince someone else to run with him, although he doesn’t know who would be up this early. Felix would, but he’s, well. Mean. Raphael or Leonie would love to run, but Leonie’s on sky duty with Ingrid, and getting Raphael active before breakfast takes some doing.

His stomach grumbles a little, and he sighs.

“Guess that roll wasn’t enough, huh?” He says aloud, taking a detour into the kitchen. He has to check anyway to see if there’s any news about their thief, so he might as well try to snag something if he can.

He comes to a halt, doing some cooldown stretches as he walks inside. The cook greets him, wagging her spoon threateningly as he eyes up the porridge. He gives up on the early breakfast plans.

“Don’t be too loud, dear,” she says quietly. “The little one just fell asleep.” She gestured over to the corner, where a small figure is curled up by the potato sacks.

“It’s okay,” a groggy, ragged voice calls back. “Just dozing. Never actually fell asleep.”

The cook clucks her tongue disapprovingly, and Caspar gawks as Ashe sits up and groans, clutching his head.

“Ashe? What are you doing here this early?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Brain wouldn’t stop. Felt really sick. Had to do something,” he moans, and Caspar rushes over, helping him to his feet. He’s never seen Ashe like this. He holds his hand up to his forehead, and sighs in relief. No fever. Probably just sleep deprivation.

“I know we made a bet, but taking care of yourself is still important,” he says, and Ashe weakly tries to push him away.

“Nope. Nope, we are not getting into this now. I already feel like horse dung,” he growls, but it’s so weak and pathetic it’s more like a kitten than a real lion. It’s extremely mild, but still, hearing Ashe curse is... weird. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Ashe be anything but cloyingly polite.

“Okay buddy, I’m going to bring you back to your bed, up we go,” Caspar says gently, and Ashe gives him a glare.

“I can walk, Caspar,” he says. “I’m tired, not drunk-“

Still, He let’s Caspar help him to his feet and walk with him back down the road.

“Bad night? Do you want to talk about it?” Caspar asks, pretending not to notice how pale he is.

“Not really. Things have just been... there’s just so much happening lately,” he confesses. “I thought things had been looking up, but I suppose I was wrong.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Caspar says. “I’ve been pushing you a lot with that bet, I probably haven’t been a good friend.”

Ashe doesn’t say it’s okay, but he stops, squinting down the path to the dorms. Caspar leans forward himself.

“Huh, that’s weird. There’s a crowd gathering over by the professor’s room?”

“No, not the professor’s room,” Ashe says, and his eyes widen in horror. “That’s... my room?”

Ashe is sprinting now, and Caspar is so glad he’s stretched so much this morning as he takes off after him.

“‘Scuse me, pardon us, coming through!” He shouts as the two of them push their way to the front of the crowd. Suddenly he collides with something, and he goes crashing to the ground. He realizes is Ashe, frozen, just like one of the worn down saint statues in the cathedral.

“What’s wrong? Why’d you stop?” He asks, and wordlessly, Ashe points up to the door to his room. He looks so young, and so scared, and the thought that anyone or anything would ever make someone as sweet as Ashe look like that fills him with rage. He follows his gaze up, up, and the bottom of his stomach falls out.

Scribbled on the door, in paint the same royal blue as the blue lions house colors, are the words, “Get out, thief.”

He’s up on his feet, whirling and facing the crowd that’s gathered.

“Who did this?” He shouts, the edges of his vision blurring with anger. “You think this is funny? I’ll find you, and then we’ll see how funny it is!”

“Caspar, please, you’ll just make things worse,” Ashe begs, tugging on his arm, but Caspar turns to him and gives him the most reassuring smile he can. Pantry thieves can wait. Someone is hurting his friend, and someone needs to be brought to justice.

* * *

It’s all anyone will talk about when he sits down as his desk in the Black Eagles classroom.

“I just do not understand why someone would do that to Ashe?” Petra says quietly. “He is kind, and smart, and always helps me or anyone who needs it.”

“Oh, you know why,” Dorothea says, face like a storm cloud. “Someone feels a little threatened by a commoner in the academy, I’d say.”

“I thought Ashe is Lord Lonato’s heir?” Bernadetta offers timidly.

“Was. After the rebellion his territory was ceded to House Rowe,” Ferdinand explains. “Any claim Ashe might have had to it is gone. Tragic.”

“Yes, more tragic than his father dying,” Dorothea snaps back.

“That is not what I meant,” Ferdinand protests. “But if we’re thinking of motives, I can see how someone might think of Ashe as a threat. After all, a child of common birth inheriting a noble title? To someone particularly petty and concerned with status, they might think of that as theft.”

“Disgusting,” Dorothea says.

“I agree,” Ferdinand says, slowly. “But like I said earlier. Ashe has no claim anymore. So there goes that theory.”

“People are always calling me thief,” Petra announces. “Although I think they mean that I am quiet and stealthy like a thief. I am working on my metaphors.”

“People don’t paint accusations on your door,” Linhardt points out. “It would start an international incident if they did, after all.”

“Speaking of incidents,” Edelgard announces, striding into the classroom. Hubert follows her like a shadow. “The staff had a serious talk with the house leaders regarding this morning’s incident. Obviously, we don’t have any evidence to who did it, and there’s no evidence that anything was stolen in the first place. Regardless, everyone understands that these accusations are serious?”

There’s a rumble of assent.

“Caspar,” Edelgard calls out, and he jumps. Her face softens, just a bit. “You're friends with Ashe, correct?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” he stammers, caught off guard at the sudden spotlight.

“How is he holding up?”

“I think he’ll be okay,” Caspar says. “I saw the rest of his class taking care of him this morning.”

“Good to hear.”

“Did the professors say anything in the meeting, Edie?” Dorothea asks as she settles in next to her. Edelgard shrugs.

“The school has had issues in the past with students of common birth being bullied. We’ve just been warned to keep an eye out for it.”

Dorothea gives Ferdinand a pointed look.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” Caspar says, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. “I’ve just... I’ve never seen him so scared.”

“Are you sure he wants you meddling?” Linhardt says, yawning. “It might be best to let this whole thing blow over. Put it behind us. Focus that energy into making him feel better.”

“He won’t feel better until this bastard is caught!” Caspar argues, and Linhardt just sighs.

“Well, I won’t stop you, if that’s what you think. Haven’t the two of you been fighting recently?”

Suddenly seven pairs of eyes are on him, Caspar puts up his hands.

“Hold on, what are you implying? Okay, we had a disagreement about something, but I’d never do anything to hurt him-“

“I’m not saying that,” Linhardt says, arranging his books on his desk for optimal comfort. “I’m just saying that maybe you aren’t the best one to say what he wants or needs right now.”

“So what were you fighting about?” Bernadetta pipes out. Caspar sighs.

“We has a disagreement about how to handle the recent pantry thief. I think we need to bring him to justice so he’ll never hurt anyone again. Ashe thinks we need to just talk to him about it,” he says. “I mean, he’s so naive! You have to make an example out of these people! It doesn’t matter why, that doesn’t excuse choosing to hurt people! If you do that, you need to be punished!”

“Interesting,” Edelgard says. “Not getting into your dispute, but you recently fought about thieves? I wonder if someone who knew about that incident might be trying to use it.”

“Maybe they’d hoped Caspar would just whack his head off without any evidence,” Dorothea snorts under her breath, and Caspar feels his face getting red.

“Okay, that is twisting my words! Obviously you need proof!” Caspar protests. “But I didn’t think about that. Thanks, Edelgard! That might be the start we need to get to the bottom of this!”

Any further conversation they have is cut short by Manuela entering the classroom, obviously hungover. He can barely concentrate on the lesson, even if it’s on siege weapons, which are totally cool. He’s too busy worrying about Ashe.

* * *

He corners Ashe after class that day. Well, cornering makes it sound bad, but Ashe is so jumpy and anxious there’s no other way, he thinks. Dedue maneuvers himself in between them, standing firm, strong, and angry. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, and Ashe peeks out from behind his back. He can see the rest of the Blue Lions peering over as the exit the classroom, and Prince Dimitri is making a beeline toward them, scowl afixed to his face. 

“It’s okay, Dedue,” Ashe says, voice far stronger than this morning. “Caspar’s nice. You don’t have to protect me from him.”

Dedue steps back, and Ashe pops around him. He looks cheerful, but he can tell from the way his eyes dart around the grounds that he’s not nearly as fine as he’s pretending to be. Dimitri is hovering behind them, sharing glances with Dedue, having a conversation without words.

“I just wanted to check in with you, after this morning,” he says, and Dimitri’s expression softens.

Ashe plops down on the bench and sighs. Caspar sits next to him, and leans back, staring at the sky. “Thanks, Caspar. The professors got it all cleaned up now, so that’s good at least. Ignatz said we’re lucky the paint washed away pretty easily. It could have been a lot worse.”

“Ignatz said that?” He tries to keep the skepticism out of his voice, but Ashe gives him a funny look. Crap. 

“Yeah, Professor Byleth thought that the culprit might have stolen some of his paints, but he makes his own pigments. Nothing like the paint on the door.” He watches Ashe’s feet swing back and forth, just a little too short to touch the ground. “He let me look at them, they’re all really pretty.”

“That was nice of him,” he says, and Ashe laughs. 

“Yeah, it really cheered me up. Everyone here is really nice,” he says, and Caspar can easily see what he’s talking about. The rest of the Blue Lion class is hovering, pretending not to be eavesdropping. “I just can’t believe something like this would happen.”

“Well, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again,” he says, and Ashe flinches a little. He can see Annette frown from across the courtyard, and Mercedes turns her head to stare at him. 

“Caspar, it’s okay. Please, I’d rather people just stop talking about it.”

His fingers tighten around the wood of the bench, and he exhales slowly. Of course Ashe would say something like that. He’s kind, and selfless, and well, childish. Not talking about it doesn’t mean it will just go away. You have to do something to make it stop.

“I don’t want this person to hurt you anymore,” Caspar says. The bell rings out across the courtyard. Students suddenly start to scatter, rushing out to their assigned tasks. 

“Ashe, will you be alright?” Dimitri calls out. “I have laundry duty today but maybe… Ingrid?”

“Stable duty this week with Sylvain,” she calls back. “Sorry Ashe. Annette?”

“Sorry,” she calls out, wavering between him and the kitchen. “I signed up for extra choir practice with Mercie.” 

“Unfortunately I’m working in the greenhouse,” Deude says. “We could ask Felix?”

“It’s alright,” Ashe laughs, as the rest of the house crowds around. “The professors gave me the rest of the week off. Maybe I’ll just study in the library? You all don’t need to completely reschedule your lives around me!”

“You know,” Caspar says. “I actually have the day off, too. The cat that hangs out by the Cathedral just had kittens, you could come with me to take care of them?”

Ashe face lights up and practically blinds him. The two of them bid goodbye to the rest of the class, and dash through the grounds. Dorothea waves to him as the pass, and he’s pretty sure Edelgard gives the two of them a small smile. He keeps jabbering, not letting Ashe look around and see anyone else. That’s the last thing he needs. 

The kittens are small, and Ashe cradles them so gently. His hands are pretty small, smaller than Caspar’s and far more careful and gentle.

“Have you named them yet?” He asks, sparkles in his eyes, and Caspar desperately wants to make sure that he’s always like this, sparkling and laughing and smiling. 

“Nah, I figured we should wait and see what their personalities are like, first,” Caspar says. 

“Not a bad idea,” Ashe says, stroking them and listening to their purrs. 

“Ashe,” he says, quietly.

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t want to say anything while your friends were there, but I really do mean it when I say I’ll make sure something like this doesn’t happen again. I’ll find the guy, and I’ll make sure he never hurts you again.”

“Thank you, Caspar,” Ashe says, but he doesn’t look at him. “But it’s really okay.”

“It’s clearly not okay!” He says, then clamps his hand over his mouth. He brings his voice down lower. “It’s obvious it’s been upsetting you. Someone accused you of something truly terrible! You don’t have to pretend. I’m your friend, and you can say what you really feel.”

Ashe stops petting the kitten, and it squirms out of his grip and darts across the floor towards its mother. He sits there, quiet. 

“I’ve made a list of possible suspects. I’ve been able to rule out some trustworthy students. Obviously Dedue, Dimitri, Dorothea, Edelgard, probably Hubert then too, are all in the clear. Leonie and Ingrid were on watch, so I’m thinking they might have seen something. If you want to start with the Blue Lions, I can ask around the Black Eagle house. There’s a ton of students I’m not very close with but-”

“Shut up.”

“What?”

“You said I can say what I really feel,” Ashe says, and his voice is strangely calm. “And I want you to shut up. I already told you so many times, I want you to stay out of it.”

“You’re my friend, I can’t just leave you alone!” He protests, and Ashe whirls around at him, angry tears forming in his eyes. 

“You never stop, do you? First the pantry thief, now this-”

“Wait, pantry thief? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“I mean, you just don’t get it!” Ashe yells. “You think you can just fix everything by force? The real world doesn’t work that way!”

Caspar’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious? This guy could do far, far worse to you! He could hurt others, too! I know you’re a bleeding heart-”

“You don’t know anything!” Ashe says. “You act like you always know what’s right. ‘Might makes right!’ But you never stop for a second to think if there could be another way! I don’t _want_ you to get involved, and that should be enough!”

He can’t say anything. He tries to argue back but his mouth is too dry to say anything. He swallows heavily, and Ashe laughs, a little wheezy laugh. 

“I mean, what if it was true? I bet you wouldn’t try so hard to defend me then.”

“Wha-what do you mean by that?”

Ashe gets up, and gives him a tight, worn smile. “Goodnight, Caspar. Thanks for showing me the cats.”

And then he leaves, and he’s alone. There’s a sour, dreadful feeling in his stomach, and he thinks he might have broken something irreparably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot more dialogue than I expected. Caspar isn't nearly as introspective as Ashe, so it makes sense. Next time we'll get back in Ashe's head, just in time to see things get worse.


	4. Chapter 3

They’re looking at him. They act like they aren’t, burying their faces in books and dinner plates and in conversations, but he knows they’re looking at him. There’s a rattling sound, and he whips his head around trying to pinpoint it. 

It’s his cup, rocking back and forth on his tray as his hands tremble. He grips it even more tightly and searches the dining room for somewhere safe. Maybe he should eat outside, hide out back with his back against the wall and his muscles screaming to run away, get out of there-

“Ashe! Over here!” The people pretending not to look at him now have a real reason not to look at him, as Sylvain stands up on the bench and aggressively waves at him. “That’s right, hot stuff! I saved you a seat!”

Sylvain is at least one hundred times more shameless and embarrassing than he is, at least, which makes the long walk down the aisle a little less painful.He places his plate next to his, and awkwardly settles in next to him. 

“Are you really alright with this?” He whispers, voice a little too high and fast.

“It’s okay,” Sylvain says, almost bored sounding as he stabs his fork through some salad. “People talk about me a lot, too. You get used to it.”

“That sounds like a pretty miserable outlook,” Ashe admits, staring down at his food.”I don’t want to get used to this.”

“They’ll move onto the next scandal eventually,” Sylvain says, in a way that should be comforting but really isn’t. “If you want I can, I dunno, try to seduce Edelgard, or something. That should cause a stir.”

“No!” Ashe yelps, and Sylvain laughs a little. 

“Alright, if you say so. But I will gladly raise hell for you, if you’d like,” Sylvain says. 

“Thanks, Sylvain,” he mumbles. “You’re being really… nice.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised!” He says, mock offended, and he can’t help but laugh at the look of indignation on his face. “Seriously though, it all just… bothers me.”

Ashe swallows his food heavily, watching as Sylvain’s face falls. It’s usually light and jovial, and the switch raises warnings in his head. 

“I mean, I don’t care about what they say about me. It’s all true, anyways.”

Ashe’s stomach lurches, and he clamps a hand over his mouth. He wants to vomit- of course Sylvain is being nice to him, he doesn’t know, and he hopes he never knows. The thought of  _ Sylvain _ , of all people, looking at him disgusted and disappointed is one of the worst things he can think of. 

“Like” Sylvain continues, playing with the food on his plate. “I deserve it. You don’t. So of course it bothers me a little more when people talk bad about you.”

“O-oh,” he stutters out, and Sylvain gives him a look of concern. He doesn’t know that Ashe does deserve it, that everything they’re saying is true. 

“Are you feeling okay? I’m sorry, let's drop this topic. How about let’s talk about something else? I read a really good book, lately-”

Sylvain is good at talking. Great, in fact. He goes on and on, telling jokes and distracting him. He picks fights, little ones, and the next thing he knows, it’s been an hour, and Ashe is only partway through his literary analysis of symbolism in  _ Loog and the Maiden of Wind _ . The dining hall is emptying out, and Sylvain gallantly offers to walk him back to his room. 

“The other knights in shining armor are all busy, so unfortunately you have me,” he says, laughing. “My armor’s probably made of tin.”

“It’s a little rusted, but it’ll have to do,” Ashe says, dryly, and Sylvain snorts. He drops him off at his bedroom door, and for a moment he feels like one of Sylvain’s many partners, waiting to be cut loose cruelly with a smile and a wink. But he lingers, leaning up against the pillar.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he says, and Ashe slumps against the door. “If you need anything, especially if it’s just a break, you can always ask me. I’m a good distraction.”

Ashe chooses to take that sincerely, not as part of Sylvain’s weird flirting. 

“Thank you,” He says. 

“Hey, it’s what friends do. I don’t need to be thanked,” he says, and he waves goodbye. Ashe locks his door, pushes his chair under the doorknob, and desperately tries to fall asleep.

* * *

He can barely focus in class the next day. Nothing seems to stick, and luckily all of the professors seem to notice, so none of them call on him. He’s loved reading since before he even learned how, but now everything feels wrong. The words slide off the page like a fried egg off toast, and even the thought of food makes his stomach turn. 

He spends lunch throwing up instead of eating, hidden out in the privy. It’s dark in there, and it smells, but he’s alone. It’s refreshing in a weird way. No one is looking at him, and he leans back against the wall and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. He can hear Lonato’s soft tsk of disapproval. 

“Ashe, what happened to the handkerchief I gave you?” He can almost hear him say, and it brings a little smile to his face. At the time, he’d hated Lonato’s lectures on manners, usually long, and tedious, and full of too many rules to remember. He’d once complained to Christophe, parodying Lonato’s voice and he’d laughed until he was gasping for air. 

“You know,” he’d said, after he’d stopped wheezing. “Knights still have to learn which fork is the salad fork.” 

Well, after that Ashe had pretty quickly learned table settings, and etiquette, and smoothed his speech over until his accent and slang had been all watered down. Until now, he’d thought he’d done a pretty good job of it. Don’t make any trouble, speak nice, look nice, act nice and proper, like you belong here. Except he doesn’t and it’s become painfully clear to him that he’s so close to being found out as a complete and total fraud. 

It’s even worse outside of class, where his friends hover and fret over him, even though they pretend they aren’t. He can never be alone, and they hand him off in shifts, one of them always beside him. It’s both comforting, and terrifying. They don’t pry, and largely they do a pretty good job of keeping his mind off of it, except for the part where he has to be conscious of how much he’s faking every second.

He sees Caspar from afar, who pretends to be engrossed in a book, and is completely not subtle about it. His stomach twists a little bit. It felt  _ good  _ to get angry at Caspar, and that’s the part that makes him feel sick. 

Caspar needed to hear it, he argues with himself, and he’s right, he thinks. Perhaps he needed to hear it, and maybe he just needed to say it. Either way, it’s been said, so there’s not much else he can do but feel his stomach do flips like a pegasus knight.

He feels a tug on his arm, and he looks up, snapped out of his reverie. Mercedes and Annette have linked their arms with his, and are pulling him forward. 

“Come on Ashe, let’s do something fun!” Annette says, smile beaming from her face. “Mercie and I have discovered a delicious dessert recipe in the library, and I think we’ll need your expertise!”

Ah, he thinks. So today Mercedes and Annette have the “Watch over Ashe” duty. He lets himself go along with it, because cooking does always make him feel better. It makes him think of his Mum, and the inn. He was too little to remember most of it, just the warmth and yellow paint on the walls, and the way his mum sung, not all of it, just little echoes of something. 

Replacing it feels wrong, but substituting it works all right. Annette and Mercedes describe some sort of ancient honey cake they’d like to try recreating (“It was supposedly a favorite of Saint Cichol!”) and he allows himself a little time to get absorbed into their enthusiasm. 

He follows them into the kitchen, and Annette carefully starts pulling out the ingredient list. 

“Okay, so we’ll need flour, eggs, milk, chopped noa fruit, cinnamon, sugar, honey-”

“Kids, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” a sharp voice cuts into her rambling. She yelps, sparks involuntarily fluttering from her fingertips. Ashe leaps into action, smothering them with a hand towel. The head chef watches their chaos and sighs, wiping her hands on her apron. 

“With the recent string of pantry robberies, we’re limiting the use of the kitchen to only those assigned to kitchen duty,” she explains, and her expression is neutral as she speaks, but his heart still catches in his chest. “It’s only for a few days, until we change the locks and tighten up our security.”

“Oh…” Mercedes says, glancing back and forth from Ashe and the chef. “I understand, we’ll… we’ll come back another day!” 

They make it out of the kitchen before Annette’s face falls, and she kicks at the grass. She’s acting the way he wants to, but he forces himself to stay as neutral as possible. 

“I’m sorry, Ashe,” she says. “I really thought this would be something nice, but…”

“It’s alright, Annette. I’m grateful you thought of me at all, honestly!” He gives her the best smile he can muster, which isn’t very good. 

“We can always do something else,” Mercedes offers. “We could go fishing, or study in the library, or-”

“Actually, I think I’m just going to head back to my room,” he says, injecting just the perfect amount of regret into his voice. “I stayed up pretty late last night studying. Didn’t absorb anything though.”

The two of them start to protest, but he feigns a yawn and they stop. 

“You two go on ahead without me, but tomorrow we can look at some of those old recipe books and plan out what we’ll do when the kitchen opens back up,” he says, and it’s enough to get the two of them off his back. He makes his way behind some hedges and crumples, hot tears welling up in his eyes. His lip trembles, and he bites down on it, not wanting anything to spill over. 

He’s sick of lying and hiding. Annette and Mercedes, and everyone in the Blue Lions just want to do something nice to him, and all he ever does is lie to their faces. Maybe it would be easier to tell them, and get kicked out. But he needs to graduate, it’s his ticket to a better future, not only for his siblings, but for him too. Gaspard may be gone, but if he graduates he can get a knighthood elsewhere-

He can’t hold back the tears anymore. Everything is falling apart, and he just wanted this one thing. Just one, small, stupid thing that would be nice and would make his friends happy. But he can’t even have that.

The kitchen is supposed to be someplace safe, and inviting. It’s stupid, really, really stupid to cry over something so silly, he tells himself. But he can’t help it, and he scrubs at his face with his sleeve, letting the wetness soak into it. It isn’t fair, that this be taken away from him too. 

He breathes in, and out, in, and out. He needs something steady. He’d forgotten this, the feeling that he can’t describe, that no one understands, not unless they lived it too. With Lonato and Christophe, he’d had the luxury to forget the  _ constancy _ of it all. The panic, the fear, never resting, always hiding and running and hurting, both himself and others. Doubt gets you killed. Doubt gets your siblings killed.

It’s pathetic, truly, that he be this torn up about it. It just goes to show how much he’s softened since then. Young Ashe didn’t have the time, the freedom, the  _ privilege _ to shut down like this. Did it used to hurt this bad? He wonders, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in them. It must have, just a constant, steady, never-ending baseline of pain that became so normal it no longer registered. 

Humans aren’t made to live like this, he thinks. But he did it, somehow, when he was younger and weaker than he is now. He doesn’t know about living like this, but he can survive it, at least. He’s a strong swimmer, and well. He’s always been good at treading water. 

* * *

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to compose himself. He treads silently back to his room. Dinner is over, and there’s still a few students milling around. The grow silent when he passes, and he should be upset, and he should be angry, but he’s all cried out. He doesn’t have the energy to feel self-righteous. 

He pulls out his key and unlocks the door to his room, but before he can open it, a hand reaches over his head and firmly pushes it closed. He whips around, heart pounding in his chest, and he’s surrounded by a group of students he doesn’t know. 

“Can I help you?” He says, surprised at how steady he’s able to keep his voice. The boy who’s blocking his way also keeps his voice neutral as he studies him. 

“Yes, actually. You see, recently I seem to have… misplaced something important to me. I think you might be able to help me with that.”

“Well, I’ve been told I have good vision, so I could help you look for it. May I ask what you lost?” Ashe says, sizing up the people behind him. He’s one of the younger and smaller students here, so it’s not a surprise that everyone seems far bigger than him. His gaze lingers on a male student hovering just behind his shoulder. He stifles a gasp. It’s the boy who walked in him changing. The one who saw. 

The boy in front of him takes his hand off the door and rests it on his shoulder. It’s meant to look friendly, but the weight on him is anything but. 

“No, I don’t want you to look for it, you dirty little thief, I want you to give it back,” he says, his voice still artificially pleasant. 

Ashe grits his teeth and resists the urge to slap his hand away. He’d rather not just jump to violence. There’s no sense escalating an already bad situation. 

“I didn’t steal anything, and I can’t give you back something that one, I don’t have, and two, that I don’t know what it is,” he gives him an overly false and cheery smile. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help!”

It’s evidently the wrong answer because the boy’s grip tightens on his shoulder and he winces in pain. 

_ They’ve surrounded, the market guards, and they’re all so much bigger than he is, so much stronger. No one wants to help a kid like him, and people crane their necks and point as they pin him down. He curses and spits at them, fingernails uselessly scratching at their arms. He needs to get away, needs to get home- _

“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses. “It’s a gold signet ring. It’s probably worth more than someone like you would make in your entire life.” 

“I’m not lying,” Ashe whispers. He swallows heavily, willing himself to pull together the rest of his courage. The other students are starting to crowd around him, and his eyes dart around, trying to find a weak point, some way to escape. In the back, he sees a shining blond head poke around the staircase, and break into a sprint. 

“What’s going on here?” Ingrid demands, forcing her way into the circle. One of the boys grabs her arm, and she shakes him off. “Leave him alone!”

“Back off, Galatea,” he snarls. “It’s not like your family has anything worth stealing.”

“Ashe is _not_ a thief,” she protests, and she rips the boy’s hands off of him. She forces her way in between Ashe and the others. She gives him a confident wink over her shoulder, and squares up into a fighting stance. “If you want to hurt him, you’ll have to get through me first!”

“Ingrid, it isn’t worth it!” Ashe whispers, but she ignores him. A student rushes at her to pull her away, and she responds with a right hook to the stomach. Everything is silent as the air rushes out of him, and he sinks to the ground, winded. 

“You’ll.. Pay… for that!” He gasps out, and Ingrid is already whirling around, blocking another punch. There’s a sickening crunch, and Ashe lets out a yelp as Ingrid staggers back, blood splattering on the flagstones. It streams out of her nose, but she grits her teeth and slams her foot hard into the back of her assailant’s knee. He buckles, and she takes the opportunity to sink her elbow into his face. 

Ashe is rooted to the ground. Ingrid is moving with none of the grace he’s used to seeing her fight with, just pure anger. He should help her, he should move, but he can’t. He needs to make her stop, to tell her he’s not worth hurting for, but nothing comes out of his mouth. 

_ The local magistrate peeks over his glasses at him, and there’s nothing but disdain and scorn on his face. His lip curls up like he’s smelled something bad, and maybe he has. This is the only set of clothes he owns, and he can’t remember the last time he had washed them. He scribbles something with his quill, and doesn’t even bother to look at him as he speaks.  _

_ “It is important,” he says. “To punish sinners appropriately. So that they do not stray from the Goddess's light again.”  _

She lets out a scream. A large fist wraps around her golden braid and yanks cruelly, knocking her off balance. Her opponent pins her to the ground, driving a knee into her spine. 

“Let go of her,” he yells, but he’s too small and weak to do anything, and two more students pin him as well. There’s a thud behind him, and he cranes his neck to see his remaining attackers rifling through his room. They carelessly toss his possessions to the floor, and he flinches as he hears things shatter. 

“You foul, dirty, disgusting-” Ingrid screams. “You have no proof of anything! Just you wait until His Highness-” 

“The house leaders were called into a faculty meeting, so there’s nothing to fear there. And besides, we have all the proof we need,” the ringleader says. Ingrid clams up, shock spreading across her face. “Or didn’t you know?” 

He turns to face Ashe, and he kneels down, pulling a dagger out of his belt. “You mean you didn’t tell them? I thought for sure you did.”

“Please,” he whispers. He’s not too proud to beg. Begging has saved him dozens of times in the past. “Please, I swear, I didn’t take anything. Please, don’t do this.”

He doesn’t listen, but he stretches Ashe’s arm out, and slips the blade of his dagger under the sleeve. 

“This arm right?” He calls out, and the student who started it all nods. Ashe can’t tear his eyes away as the dagger slices cleanly through his clothes. Ingrid has stopped struggling, her eyes wide as his hands roughly pull aside the fabric to expose him. 

_ He’s too small and bony for the restraints they have, so one of the guards pins his arm down as they heat… something up in the brazier.  _

_ “Here, kid. You might want to bite down on this,” the guard says, and a little sympathy creeps into his voice. Ashe studies the leather glove with suspicion. There’s a rustling, and the other guard starts walking back towards them. The black iron of the brand glows red, and suddenly things slide into place in his head. He struggles, but it’s no use. He hasn’t eaten in the past few days, and he’s already weak. “It’ll help with the pain,” the guard tries again, but Ashe keeps his mouth clamped shut.  _

_ The brand presses against his skin, and he can’t stop screaming.  _

“Really, I thought the Officer’s Academy was better than this, letting criminals and gutter trash in,” the ringleader says, pulling Ashe to his knees to better display his handiwork. The ugly scar is like a beacon, proclaiming Ashe’s crimes for the whole world to see. “I’m doing this place a favor by getting rid of someone like you.”

Ingrid is frozen, horror spreading across her face, and whether it’s because of him or this situation, he can’t quite tell. He’s just tired. It feels like he’s naked, shivering and vulnerable in front of everyone. They’ve already made up their minds about him, so it doesn’t matter. If that’s what they think of him, he might as well give them what they ask for. 

“Oh shut up,” Ashe says, his voice low and flat. Everyone turns to him, and it’s quiet, except for the sound of his heart beating in his ears. “Shut your mouth, you disgusting, inbred, noble pigfucker.” 

And Ashe puts everything he has into a headbutt directly to the leader’s balls. He lets out a squeak, and Ashe is free. He staggers to his feet, not even hesitating before landing a swift kick to Ingrid’s captor’s face. 

Christophe had taught him how to fight like a knight. He’d shown him how to wield a lance, proper bow form, etiquette in battle. These were all important, precious things. 

Ashe rakes his fingernails down his opponent's face until he screams, then slams his hands over his ears, leaving him deafened and confused. No one had taught him this, he’d had to learn it himself. Dirty fighting is a noble concept - it’s not dirty if it keeps you alive. Children learn fast or they die. There’s so many people who would want to hurt a desperate child. 

He feels a warm presence on his back, and he sees blond hair over his shoulder. 

“Ingrid?” He gasps, slamming his knee up into an opponent’s crotch. 

“Save your breath,” she wheezes, her voice high pitched and strange, filtered through a broken nose. “I’ll watch your back. You watch mine. We have backup.” 

Someone launches themselves bodily into the fray, and Ashe whips around just in time to see Felix take a blow to the face, a mark spreading across his cheekbone as an arrogant grin slashes across his face. A gust of wind pushes him forward and he brandishes a wooden training sword with relish. Annette hurtles toward them, wind dancing between her fingers as she delivers a well placed kick to the shin. 

Ingrid’s split lip heals itself, and he feels the warmth of healing magic dance across his bruises. It feels like Mercedes, maybe a little Sylvain mixed in. Two figures stay out of the brawl, casting Physic from afar. A tiny purple head pokes out of her door, and screams in shock. 

“Bernadetta!” Ingrid bellows. “GO AND GET THE TEACHERS, NOW!” 

“W-what?” A high pitched shriek calls back. Ingrid slams her opponent into the walls and screams back. 

“NOW, BERNADETTA!” She takes off like a bolt of lighting, hyperventilating as she runs. 

She screams in shock and surprise, and like that, silence falls across the battle. Someone is bending down to help her up, from where she’s collided with them. The rest of their group is striding quickly and purposefully across the grounds, and his heart drops as he sees Dimitri and Dedue leading the way. There’s Edelgard, and Claude, and oh Goddess, the teachers are all there too. If there was any hope of anything going back to normal, it’s been shattered, so he lets go of that one, final wish. 

Everything tastes salty, and he realizes mouth is gushing blood. He must have bit his cheek in the fight. Suddenly, everything starts to hurt, in a way that he hadn’t noticed before. _Adrenaline,_ the small, knowledgeable part of his brain helpfully supplies. That must be it. Dimitri is next to him, and he’s speaking, something about being “disappointed and ashamed,” but he isn’t looking at Ashe as he says it. He’s never seen Dimitri so angry, and the thought of even a little bit of that directed toward him is enough to makes his knees week. He collapses, and strong and gentle hands catch him and guide him downwards. The other house leaders crouch on either side of him, and Dimitri takes off his cloak and wraps it around his shoulders, hiding the brand from sight. 

“I have proof, that little brat is the one who’s behind all of the robberies recently,” his assailant is protesting. 

“Lord Drummond, correct?” Edelgard asks, her voice cool. “I should sure hope you have proof. After all, it would surely be a shame to assault someone over a false accusation.”

“You can see it for yourself, burned right into his arm!”

“Ah, I think I’m starting to see everything clearly,” Claude says, tapping his finger against his cheek. “What I’m getting is that no, you didn’t have any proof at all, and you jumped to conclusions! Am I right?”

“Ingrid,” Dimitri says. “Please tell us what happened.” 

She stiffens to attention, and she’s far sturdier than one would expect, Ashe thinks. Her face is a mess, and her clothes are ripped, but she’s prim and proper as she explains. “It was five against one, Your Highness. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I should have tried to de-escalate more, I’m afraid.”

“None of them looked ready to talk,” Felix says. “De-escalating with your fists was entirely appropriate.”

“Anyway,” Manuela cuts in. “I’m absolutely disgusted. I hope none of you dream of coming to me for healing. The Officer’s Academy is not a place for senseless violence. That goes for all of you, regardless of who started it. There will be severe consequences for this.”

Disappointment settles on his shoulders like Dimitri’s cape. It’s heavy, and no one will look him in the eye, even as they help him to his feet. 

“My- my room,” he whispers, and Edelgard gives a glance back at it and winces slightly.

“We’ll get someone in there to help you clean that all up,” she says, not unkindly, but he still keeps his eyes locked firmly to his feet. He clutches the cape around him as if it’s impenetrable. The gazes of all the onlookers pierce right through him, and he knows that, for the second time this year already, that everything is over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this, we've hit our halfway point, roughly. The remaining chapters will be a bit more introspective, which I'm very much looking forward to! Writing action tires me out. The remaining chapters are all mostly written already, so hopefully updates will be a little quicker this time around.


	5. Chapter 4

His hands won’t stop moving. He has to do something, so he fidgets. He’s never been neat, but just to do _ something _ he straightens out his textbook, arranges his inkpots, and smooths out the creases in the paper, then does it again. And then again. No one’s talking about last night, but it’s the only thing everyone is talking about, in their eyes and their body language, even as they refuse to let the words pass their lips. 

“They found Lord Drummond’s signet ring in Professor Byleth’s lost and found,” someone says, and everyone shakes their heads. 

He fiddles with his quills, hands running along the edges of the feathers, feeling the barbs catching on the calluses of his fingers. It’s better than trying to talk about it. He’s always prided himself on being straightforward, but he doesn’t have the words he needs. 

“It’s unlike you to be so neat and quiet,” Linhardt says, stifling a yawn. “I’d say it’s a welcome change, but now you have me worried.”

“It’s not that weird,” he says automatically, less of a protest and more of a reassurance. Linhardt quirks an eyebrow up at him. 

“Duly noted,” he says, resting his head on his arms. “Well, I’m not going to pry- unlike you- but let me know if you snap out of it.”

“You were so brave, Bernie!” Dorothea says, draping herself over the smaller girl protectively. “I’m really proud of you.”

“I didn’t do much,” she whispers, blushing a little. “I just did what Ingrid told me to do. I hope she’s okay…”

“Manuela healed her nose, even though she said she wouldn’t,” Dorothea says back. “Apparently Sylvain spun her some story about how she’d never get married with a crooked nose, and she completely fell for it.”

“She did seem suspiciously better this morning,” Edelgard remarks, studying her textbook. 

“I thought the nose made her look roguishly handsome,” Dorothea complains. “The thought of her leaping into the fray like that is dashing.”

“I like that a lot,” Petra says. “ _ Leaping into the fray. _ It sounds very heroic.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“But I hope Ashe is okay,” she continues. “I knocked on his door this morning but he did not respond. Dedue brought him some food but it was still there during lunch.” 

It’s like the bubble popped, and their corner of the room goes cold and quiet. 

“I tried to ask about him, but tensions are high at the moment,” Ferdinand says, a little sheepishly. “I thought Felix was about to draw a sword on me. Professor Byleth assured me they’d make sure he was alright, though.”

“I do not understand it,” Petra says, her voice soft. “Do people in Fodlan often burn children?”

“That’s-” Ferdinand starts, but he sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “It is meant to be a punishment for thieves and wrongdoers. A reminder so they won’t stray again. Well, that is what it is supposed to be, anyway.”

Ferdinand’s face is troubled, and he doesn’t like seeing him that way. 

“In practice, it hurts far more than it helps,” Dorothea says. “If you try and go straight, good luck. No one will hire a thief.”

“I see,” Petra says, but he can see from the look on her face that she doesn’t. “It does not seem fair. But maybe I still have to learn more about Fodlan.”

“I don’t think that would change anything,” Linhardt replies. He jumps a little. He could have sworn he was asleep. “I’m pretty sure humans have been arguing about crime and punishment for centuries. Ferdinand could probably recommend some very thick and painful books about the history of it.”

“Hold it right there-” Ferdinand says, but Linhardt ignores him. 

“Honestly, I’m a little shocked none of you figured it out. I thought it had to be politeness. I mean, how many students do you know that can pick locks? I thought it was fairly obvious.”

Everyone stares at him as if he’d grown a second head. Linhardt just shrugs and turns to Caspar.

“Have you heard from him at all?”

He stands up. There’s a clatter, and he looks down, watching as the ink splatters across his parchment and starts spreading over his desk. 

He curses and picks it up, rummaging in his bag for a spare cloth. 

“I gotta- I gotta go. I promised to feed the cats,” he says, stammering his way through the sentence worse than a fully flustered Bernadetta. He swipes the spilled ink up with his sweat cloth, and bolts out of the classroom before anyone can stop him. 

* * *

“They’re very cute.”

Edelgard crouches down next to him as he pinches off a piece of smoked fish and holds it out for one of the kittens to sniff. 

“Yeah, they are. They’ve been getting bigger every day, it seems.”

“What are their names?”

“Oh, um,” Caspar says, watching as the kitten’s tongue dabs gingerly at the offered treat. “I haven’t- well, I was going to name them with Ashe.”

“I see,” she says. “May I?”

He passes her the fish, and watches her slowly, cautiously reach her hand to the kitten. It shies away at first, but the smell of fish must be more powerful than it’s fear. Her lips turn up as the kitten’s tiny head presses against her palm and it mews softly. 

“I think I screwed up,” he says. She nods slightly, stroking the kitten’s head. “I really am an idiot.”

“What makes you think that?” She asks, and he slumps back and sighs. 

“I should have been there to protect him, but I think I just hurt him really badly instead. I should have realized something was up when he was being so weird about the thief, and then I said  _ that _ and… ugh.” He groans in annoyance. “I still don’t think he’s  _ right _ \- I mean, you have to act when evil is around- but now… I don’t know if I think he’s wrong, either. And what I said wasn’t very nice, either.”

“Caspar. I think your desire for justice and strength is a good thing. To not step back, to not compromise when you see injustice in the world. A moment of hesitation can mean far more suffering in the future. We need more people like you. As rash and impulsive as you are-”

“Hey!”

“-you have good instincts,” she continues, brushing him off like a fly. “If you think you have done wrong, will you run away? Or will you face it head on?”

She pulls the kitten into her lap, not even wincing as it kneads its claws into her thighs. It is so delicate, he realizes, and she cradles it like something precious. 

“I do not want to live a life with regrets,” she says, firm but quiet. “And I trust that you do not, either. What is more important to you? Ashe or your immutable ideal of justice?”

They sit there in silence, watching the squirming, mewling litter of kittens devour the rest of the food. 

“Thank you, Edelgard,” he says. “I think I know what I have to do.”

* * *

Someone, Dedue, most likely, has replaced the tray from this morning. He hovers over it, running through a dozen possible conversations in his head. Since coming to the monastery, things have changed for him. The purpose of coming here was to learn, he thinks, and well. He’s learned a lot, he supposed. He’s trying to be better about not putting his foot in his mouth. 

Being a warrior is about self improvement, he thinks. Not only his body, but his mind. His heart. He’s not there yet- he’s nowhere near ready. He’s always been up for a good challenge, but Garreg Mach is a challenge he had never expected, and every day he’s discovering new ways that he feels impossibly weak. Truthfully, he’s still amazed Petra is even able to stomach being in the same room as him. 

He steps over the plate of food, avoiding the stray dog that seems to be enjoying it rather than its intended recipient. Still, there’s one thing he knows. It’s refusing to face your own flaws that makes you inadequate, rather than the flaws themselves. He can’t afford to waver. Not when something important is on the line. 

Caspar takes a deep breath, puffs out his chest, and knocks on the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter today. Caspar is a lot more straightforward, so long, introspective parts feel a little clunky to write with him. His chapters always end up shorter. Writing Edelgard was a lot of fun, too. One of my goals for this fic is not to make characters just spout the best advice, or my opinions, so I was trying to think of something she would actually say. Hopefully it paid off!
> 
> The rest of the fic is actually almost completed. Only two more chapters, plus an epilogue. Look forward to it!


	6. Chapter 5

Ashe thinks that maybe he wants to die. Dying is unpleasant, he knows that. He’s seen it happen too many times. He can picture it, his friends walking in on him, cold as ice. HIs parents looked like that, almost sleeping, if not for the glassy eyes and the oozing sores. He screws his eyes shut and buries his face into his pillow.

On second thought, he doesn’t want to die, he just wants to be absorbed into his bed, sinking further beneath the earth until he’s gone. Maybe if he stays here long enough, it will happen, and everyone will forget about him. He can fade away, and everything will be over. 

Sun streams across his blanket, and he hears a soft voice call out from behind his door. 

“Ashe,” Petra says, gently. “It is a good morning. Did you sleep well?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he prays to the Goddess for her to go away, to enjoy the good morning and a good day and to just wash her hands of him. 

“I will check in again after classes,” she says again. “Please get some rest.” Her footsteps are light as she turns and leaves, perhaps afraid of disturbing him. 

“I brought you breakfast,” Dedue says, but he doesn’t push him. The tray clatters and the smell of sweet buns wafts through the door, but his stomach turns instead of growling. 

“I’ll be waiting at the training grounds,” Felix says, in a voice that’s probably meant to be comforting but really isn’t. “Come and spar with me, if you’re not a coward.”

Each new voice that calls out to him balloons in his chest, making it tight and painful, and he swallows down that heat until it burns. He’s read in a book once that you can only cry so many tears before you run out. 

“You can’t believe everything you read,” Christophe had said, when he’d told him, but he’d only learned that was true when Christophe had died and he’d cried enough tears to flood Fhirdiad.

He can’t cry now, though. He wants to, so badly. Crying would relieve the pressure building up in his chest, pressing his heart up against his sternum until everything hurts. He stopped crying after his parents died, shutting everything down because he  _ had  _ to. It was supposed to be different, this time. 

“Ashe?” Dedue calls out. “Please let me in. You haven’t eaten all day. I… I’m worried about you. I got permission from the kitchen staff to let us use the kitchen, just for a little bit. Let me get some food in you.”

He doesn’t respond, and he hears a loud sigh from outside the door. 

“I will break the door down, if I must. I will count to ten.”

Ashe hoists himself up out of bed, and it’s harder than any training regimen Professor Byleth has set for him. He stumbles across the floor and yanks the door open. 

“You didn’t even start counting,” he says, and Goddess, his voice is so ragged and hoarse. Dedue doesn’t look at him with pity, at the very least. Perhaps it’s because he spends so much time looking after Dimitri, he’s perfected a protective poker face. 

“May I come in?” He asks, and Ashe just stares at him, before stepping away and letting him enter. 

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He asks, and Dedue shrugs. 

“I got permission to leave. There will be less students around, and you must be hungry.”

His eyes flick outside. Seteth had told him the Academy would replace the uniform jacket, but with his hoodie ruined too, he’d feel exposed. He has other long sleeve shirts, but even so. 

“Please, Ashe,” Dedue says, with a firm but still pleading tone. “Just for a moment. Get some fresh air.”

He hides in Dedue’s shadow as they walk, taking the quickest possible route to the kitchen. A few off duty knights give him looks - some pitying, and some disgusted. He feels like Bernadetta must, scared and shrinking and paranoid. 

Except for a few workers prepping vegetables, the kitchen is empty, and Dedue pushes Ashe down onto a stool. 

“Don’t over exert yourself,” he says, as if Ashe has done anything besides lie in bed all day. “I’ll just make something quick.”

Dedue really is an artist in the kitchen. Even seasoned kitchen staff can’t help but sneak glances as he whips up spice blends and chops vegetables with the practice of a chef thirty years his senior.

“Unfortunately I cannot get the right ingredients here,” he laments. “So the best I can make is a poor facsimile of my mother’s cooking.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it!” Ashe says, and the smell of onions cooking in fragrant spices fills the air. “Whatever you make is always delicious.”

Dedue laughs a little. “My mother always used to say she could never recreate her own mother’s cooking, too. And here you are, saying the same thing I used to tell her back then.”

He picks up the cutting board and slides the meat into the pan. The scent changes, the scent of meat- no, cooking flesh overpowering all else.  _ Pain sears into him and he can feel his skin fry, he can smell himself cook.  _

Dedue catches him as he slips off the stool. 

“Are you alright? Your face went completely white,” he says, and Ashe gags, covering his nose with his hand. “Ashe?”

“The smell,” he croaks out. Dedue sits him on the floor and rushes to blow out the flame. “That’s never happened before.”

Dedue sits next to him, allowing him to rest his head against his shoulder. 

“We can’t always control it,” he says, finally. “The way life haunts us. You may think you’ve moved past something, but… it is rarely so easy.”

“Do things still haunt you like that?”

Dedue sighs, low and deep inside his chest, and Ashe feels it echo inside him. 

“Yes,” he says. “But at least I have people I can go to, now.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, but they sit there on the floor, letting the clean air push away the smell of burning. 

“I think I want to go back to my room now,” Ashe whispers, and Dedue doesn’t try to stop him. 

“I’ll bring you some food later, whenever you’re ready,” he calls out. “However long that takes.”

He doesn’t deserve a friend like this, Ashe thinks. It would be better if Dedue forgot about him, too. 

Even so, later that night he hears the rustling of fabric and the clack of a tray, and he can’t help but smile, just a little involuntary one. 

* * *

There’s another knock on the door, later, a little hesitant. The lock snaps with the force and the door swings open slightly. He can hear some awkward, hushed cursing. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look up. 

“Ashe,” Dimitri says, voice gentle. “I’m coming in.” He should sit up straight, and greet him in the manner befitting his status. But he’s so  _ tired.  _ Everything’s been so much, the very thought of moving his body takes more energy than he has. 

“I know that it’s been very hard for you recently,” Dimitri says. He can feel the bed creak and dip where the prince sits next to him. “You should take all the time you need. But I just… on behalf of everyone in the Blue Lion House, I wanted to tell you that whenever you’re ready, we’ll all be happy to see you on your feet again. Do you.. Want me to leave?”

He does, but he’s tired of being alone, so he shakes his head. He doesn’t want to talk, and thankfully, Dimitri doesn’t force him to. He just stays there, quiet except for his breathing and the rustle of cloth. 

There’s a boundary between him and everyone else. He’s tried so hard to call Dimitri by his first name. Maybe he’ll never really be worthy of friendship with him. He must be appalled, knowing that someone he’s trusted and spent time with is a criminal. He doesn’t know what would be worse to see - disgust, or pity - spread across his face. A sour feeling feels his stomach, and slowly he raises his head. He has to see, he has to know. 

Instead, Dimitri’s brow is furrowed in concentration, as he carefully pulls a needle and thread through the fabric in his lap. It’s a dark, navy blue and Ashe realizes with a strange horror that the Prince of Faerghus is sitting on his bed, mending his ripped hoodie. 

“Your Hig- Dimitri!” He squeaks out, and the spell is broken. Dimitri jumps and the needle snaps, half of it pinging off onto the floor. 

“Ashe! You surprised me! Don’t worry, I brought a whole box of needles. I’ve been a lot better at it! How are you feeling?” He’s rambling, which is a relief, at least. It gives Ashe a second to compose his thoughts. 

“Why are you doing that?” He asks. “Why are you doing any of this?”

Dimitri is doing his best to thread unlucky needle number two, and he doesn’t even stop what he’s doing to answer. 

“Because you’re my friend.”

Ashe gapes at him. “How can you say something like that? After everything I’ve done?”

“It’s because of everything you’ve done,” Dimitri says. “Since I’ve met you, you’ve been nothing but kind. You always look out for everyone. I trust you on and off the battlefield. So of course I think of you as a friend.”

“Even after seeing it?” 

“Ashe,” Dimitri says, clumsily attempting another stitch. Honestly, it’s painful to watch, but watching him is at least helping Ashe calm down a bit. “We all have done things we’re not proud of. I… understand how it feels to want to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for it. And I can’t honestly say that I’ve found out how to stop feeling that way. If I judged you for it, I’d be the biggest hypocrite in the world.”

Another stitch, a little quicker and more sure this time. They’re a little crooked, and the thread isn’t a perfect match. But it’s  _ earnest _ , Ashe decides. 

“I see you everyday working so hard to make up for whatever pain you might have caused, and I think that’s brave in a way they just can’t understand. Whoever the person you used to be, you’ve changed. And that frightens people who haven’t taken that step to become better themselves.” He sets down the sewing, tying the end into a little knot. “I’m proud of you, Ashe. You’ve suffered a lot of hardships in life, and that brand is proof of that. I wish you never had to go through any of that. But despite that, you’re still a good person. A better person than anyone who might look down on someone because of their past, or their circumstances.”

He folds up the sweater and hands it to him. Someone who is more experienced would have patched it up so well no one could have told it was ripped to begin with. But he likes it this way. It’s a gift, something he’ll remember every time he wears it, before he remembers what it covers up, and how it tore. 

“Thank you, Dimitri,” He says, and for the first, and maybe only time, he feels comfortable calling him by name. “Even if everyone still hates me for it, I’m glad I have friends like you. I won’t stop moving forward. Lonato would really be disappointed in me if I gave up.” His voice cracks a little at the end. If he speaks anymore, he knows he’ll start to cry, so instead he pulls the hoodie on over his head. 

“I think,” Dimitri says quietly. “That he’d be proud of you.” 

* * *

Lonato said things often come in threes. “Blessings,” he’d say, while hugging Ashe and his siblings, and “curses,” whispered low while pouring over reports of Gaspard territory. He doesn’t know how true it really is, as bad things have been happening all year so far, and every time he thinks things might be looking up, another curse happens. 

The third knock of the day echoes around his room, and Ashe puts his ear to the door. He can hear the shuffling of feet and nervous breathing. 

“Ashe? It’s me. Caspar,” Caspar supplies helpfully, as if Ashe hadn’t already recognized his voice. “Um. I was hoping we could talk? I can come back later…”

His hand lingers on the doorknob. His fingers tremble, but he ignores then and pulls it open. Caspar stands there, and he is just so honest that even his body language betrays him, a hopeful, wise smile spreading across his face when he sees Ashe. 

He leans up against the door frame, keeping his arms crossed and blocking Caspar from the room. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Caspar says, stumbling through his words. “I mean, that’s kinda an assumption on my part, huh, but you aren’t hurt, and that’s good!”

“What do you want?” He didn’t mean to sound so cold, and he winces as Caspar’s face falls. 

“I… I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Ashe says, eloquently, because this wasn’t exactly how he picture this conversation going.

“You’re my friend, and I abandoned you when you needed me the most,” Caspar says, and he digs the toe of his shoe into the flagstones. He doesn’t meet Ashe’s eyes. His hands play with the hem of his vest as he speaks. “I should have been there for you, and I said some really insensitive things.”

“Thank you for the apology,” Ashe says. Caspar reeks of shame, and Ashe watches him as he fidgets. He weighs forgiveness in his mind, and sighs. Caspar is trying, and that alone is something worthy of praise. Caspar is genuinely a good person, he thinks. There are so many people who wouldn’t ever want to admit they were wrong, and even fewer who would actively try to be better. For all his faults, he is still loyal and kindhearted. “I forgive you for not helping me. After all, I did my best to push you away.”

Caspar lights up again, and it looks like he’s coming in for some sort of hug, or “manly embrace,” or something, so Ashe pushes him back. 

“But it wasn’t what you did that hurt. It’s what you said, before all of this even started.” Caspar looks frozen, like when Professor Byleth calls on a student who hasn’t been paying attention. “Come on, let’s take a walk. Grab your sauna stuff, too. It’s been really stressful, and I really could use time to relax.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be the final one! Just one more scene left to finish and an epilogue to write. I plan on having it done this weekend. 
> 
> Interestingly enough, the scene with Dimitri was one of the first scenes I wrote for this fic, and I've been waiting for you all to read it this whole time. As always, trying to hit that balance of characters giving good advice but not necessarily great advice - everyone's still pre-timeskip so they still have issues.


	7. Chapter 6

Garreg Mach is dark, this late at night, lit only by candles burning in other students’ windows. The two of them walk slowly down the street, silent, and too far apart for Caspar’s liking. 

“Will the sauna be open this late at night?” Caspar finally says, the silence too much to bear. Ashe doesn’t even look at him as he responds. 

“Yes, Di- Dimi- His Highness let them know. There’s quite a few students who come to bathe late at night for...personal reasons. He said they’d keep it open for me.” 

“Oh, I see.” Silence again, as they climb the stairs. The guard greets them, and they enter.

He avoids looking at Ashe as they undress. It’s uncomfortable, the space between them now, and he has no idea how to bridge it. He follows him into the empty sauna and cautiously sits down next to him. 

“You can look at it, you know,” Ashe says, and he sounds annoyed. “I want you to look at it.” 

“Oh, uh, okay,” he says, taking a very quick glance before looking away. Ashe makes a noise in his throat, anger and frustration. 

“We are going to talk about it, Caspar. Whether you like it or not,” he says, and suddenly Ashe is on top of him, hand fisting in his shirt, pushing him down into his seat. 

“What are you doing?” Caspar splutters out, but he can’t bring himself to push Ashe away.

“I said that I wanted you to look at it,” he says, and he’s never seen Ashe angry before, and it’s terrifying. He shoves his bicep into Caspar’s face, and he closes his eyes.

“I did, okay? Get that out of my face.”

“No,” Ashe says. “ _ It’s on my body _ , Caspar. I have to look at it every single day for the rest of my life. You can handle it for a minute.” 

Slowly, Caspar opens his eyes, and forces himself to really look at it. It’s ugly and the scar tissue pulls at the skin in a way that twists it. Involuntarily, he reaches out a hand to touch it, but he stops himself. Ashe nods at him, as if to say, “Go ahead.”

His fingers trace over it, spelling out the letters “T H I E F” and he can feel Ashe flinches reflexively at the touch. The scar itself is smooth, and it’s grotesque, all shiny, puffy skin the warps the flesh around it. 

“It must have been painful,” he says, and immediately winces. What a thoughtless thing to say, he thinks, but to Ashe’s credit, he takes it in stride. 

“Yeah. The smell was worse, though.”

“When, I mean, how-?”

“I was eight,” Ashe cuts through. “It was a really terrible winter that year, and I tried to steal a coat for my sister. I didn’t take into account how to hide something that size, though.”

“Why?” Caspar asks, unable to help himself. “I just can’t accept choosing to hurt people like that.”

“What would you have done? You had no  _ idea _ what it was like,” Ashe spits out between gritted teeth. “Have you ever gone hungry a day in your entire life?”

He shakes his head, and Ashe continues. 

“It’s not like I didn’t try, you know. I really did try to go straight. But who hires a child? It’s not like I could make enough honestly. There’s only so much you can make begging, and there’s so many hungry that the church can’t feed and shelter all of us.”

Ashe’s grip is strangely strong, for someone who always seems so small and delicate. He always forgets how hard he trains, or how powerfully and accurate he can hurl a throwing axe into his target.

“Being desperate changes things, Caspar,” he says. “And if you were never desperate, I don’t know how to make you understand. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs and our bodies, and I would have done anything to keep my siblings alive. I’m glad I didn’t have to do worse.”

They sit there, and the steam from the sauna is unbearable, hot and oppressive. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wants to get out of there as fast as possible. 

“What does justice mean to you?” Ashe asks suddenly. 

“Justice? It’s-” He stops, and the only noise in the room is their constant, shuddering breathing. A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated. A week ago, he’d have an answer ready to go, about punishing evil and leaping in to defend the helpless. And a week ago, he wouldn’t have thought that maybe, things might not be so clear cut. 

He’s never hesitated in giving an answer before. Maybe when it comes to book smarts, and lessons, but he’s always known who he was and what he stood for. There never even was a question, because he always  _ knew _ . 

The world is more complicated than he thought, even just a few months ago. 

“I need you to understand me,” Ashe says, and he’s almost begging him, and Caspar doesn’t want to hear it, the desperation and humiliation in his voice. “It wasn’t the branding that stopped me. It didn’t fix me, it didn’t solve the problem. Pain and suffering didn’t give my family anything to eat, or a place to stay. We were still dying. 

“Lonato helped me. It’s the only reason I’m able to be here now. Who knows what would have happened to me without him? How many people would I have hurt? How low, how desperate would I have gotten? Would I even be alive? Would my siblings?”

Ashe’s chest heaves, but he doesn’t cry. He lets go of him, and leans back, still blocking him in.. 

“Caspar,” Ashe says quietly.”If that had been you in the library, catching a kid already on his last chance in the act, would you have killed me?” 

They haven’t been paying attention to the fire, and the sauna has grown cold. Caspar swallows heavily. He tries to picture it, in his head. The pantry thief, but instead of the bandits he’d dispatched without thinking, Ashe, dirty and thin and terrified, peers up at him through matted hair. Maybe those bandits were just like Ashe, once. Maybe they weren’t. But he’ll never know, if they could have become like him, at least. 

“I think,” he whispers. “At one point, I would have. But now, I’m not sure.”

Ashe smiles, but it’s shaky and tired. “Good,” he says. “I can’t just change your mind, but as long as I got you to think about it, just a little, I’m glad.” 

His legs are starting to fall asleep, but he doesn’t push Ashe off. He’s already hurt him so much these past few days, and they’ve finally started to talk again. He can endure a little discomfort, for now. 

“I’m proud of it,” Ashe says suddenly, but his voice sounds anything but proud. “At least, I’ve decided to be proud of it.” His hand gently rubs the mangled skin, and Caspar’s breath catches in his throat. He isn’t really talking to him anymore, he thinks. He’s just an onlooker, now. 

“I’m proud of it,” he repeats, eyes downcast. “Because it means something. It means that I changed. It means that people can change. It means that things turned out alright in the end. I never had to kill anyone. I never had to sell myself. My siblings never had to dirty their own hands. And we’re all alive now. So I’m proud.”

Caspar reaches out, and grips him by the shoulders. “You should be!” He yells, and perhaps he sounds a little hysterical, but he doesn’t care. Ashe needs to know, he needs to know that it’s okay. That Caspar still cares about him. That they’re still friends. 

The surprise and shock on Ashe’s face melts into a smile, a real one. It’s the first one he’s seen him wear in such a long time. 

“Thanks, Caspar,” Ashe says. “I’m glad we could talk.” 

They sit there, letting the sleam clear out, and it feels like he can finally breathe again. He can feel the warmth of Ashe’s body next to him, and he hopes, even if he can’t find the words to say it, that Ashe feels it too. 

“I still haven’t named the kittens yet! I was waiting for you” he blurts out, and Ashe bursts out laughing. 

“Is that really what you wanted to tell me?” Ashe gasps out between snorts, and Caspar can’t help but laugh, too. 

* * *

Linhardt is trying to take a nap, his head propped up on Caspar’s lap. Caspar tickles his nose with a blade of grass, and he sneezes. He shoots him a foul glare, but before he can start to complain, there’s a clamor by the stairs. 

It’s the Blue Lions, and he can tell by the towels and bags they’re holding that they’re heading to the sauna together. The boys have formed a little group, placing Ashe firmly in the middle. He’s completely dwarfed by Dedue, Sylvain, and Dimitri. Even Felix, who always loudly proclaims that he doesn’t care follows behind them, glaring at anyone who looks at Ashe funny. 

“He looks a lot better today,” Linhardt comments. “I need you to shift 20 degrees to the left to block the sun.”

Caspar dutifully shuffles on his knees so his back is to the sun, and Linhardt sighs in relief as his shadow falls across his face. 

“Yeah, had a long talk,” he says. “It went well, I think.”

“Glad to hear it. Glad all this commotion is over.”

“I’m still figuring things out, though,” Caspar says, and Linhardt opens his eyes. “There’s a lot I don’t understand, and a lot I want to.”

“Well, it’s about time,” Linhardt says. “And here I thought you’d never understand the desire for knowledge.”

“Oh, is that what you call it?” Caspar says, mock angry. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen Flayn jump into a barrel to hide from your questions. Is that a ‘desire for knowledge?’ And you call me a meddler.”

“First of all, research is not meddling. I research, not meddle. And second of all, you absolutely are a meddler.”

“Okay, fine,” Caspar says, although he’s pretty sure that everything Linhardt has said is just an excuse. “But I am serious. There’s a lot I don’t know about the world, and the people in it. When we graduate I want to go somewhere.”

“Where were you thinking?”

“Anywhere! Everywhere! The kingdom, the alliance! Brigid, and Almyra, Sreng and Duscur, maybe even overseas to Dagda and Morfis. Even our own territories back in the Empire.” The sun on his back feels nice, and he can hear the Blue Lion’s chatter wafting towards him on the breeze, full of gentle teasing and laughter. “I’m glad I came here. I thought I was learning to be a better fighter, but I feel like… like I’m learning to be a better person, too. When I graduate, I want to keep learning. I want to meet people I never thought I would! I want to talk to people who think differently from me. I want to see things I’ve never seen.”

“A journey sounds nice,” Linhardt says with a yawn. “I think I’d like that. Lots to discover.”

“We can go anywhere you want,” Caspar says. “I’ll talk to Ashe about it. I think he’d like to come too.”

Linhardt is already asleep, and it’s always amazing how quickly he can do that, Caspar thinks. He’ll talk to Ashe about their plans tomorrow. Once they graduate, they’ll have all the time in the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually the first chapter that I wrote, and it's been sitting in my drafts for a long time. I'm very excited to have you all read it. I've struggled a lot writing Caspar's POV this fic, but I like to think I was able to bring it home. I actually very much love his supports, because I've found that Caspar really does try to seek out people who think differently from him and tries to understand them. He's a good kid.


	8. Epilogue

It’s still hard to slip away from the rest of his classmates. They worry about him so much, it’s making it hard to breath. Even so, his skills haven’t gotten that rusty. He sneaks away without a sound. 

He’ll get back to them eventually. He won’t be gone long enough for them to worry. There’s just something he needs to do first. 

The library is quiet and empty. Sunlight streams through the window, and he suspects that everyone must be enjoying the beautiful day outside, rather then spending it surrounded by books. For him, though, all of his happiest memories are surrounded by paper and leather bindings. 

When he was little, he couldn’t reach the high shelves. Lonato or Christophe would bicker, just a little bit, as they picked out a good book for him. 

“Look, Ashe has a great vocabulary, and he’s very mature for his age,” Christophe would argue, and Ashe would poke his head from around his back. “I think he can handle this one.”

“But this one is a classic! Plus, everyone knows that “The Lady of Enbarr” is… inappropriate,” Lonato would retort, trying to puff himself up to seem more authoritative.

“I guarantee you Ashe has probably seen worse,” Christophe said drily, ruffling his hair. 

It never mattered which one they chose, or how long they’d argue. He loved them just the same. 

He runs his hands over the bindings, tracing his fingers along the gilded words. He stops briefly at Loog and the Maiden of Wind, a classic, but only for a moment. He has something different in mind, today. 

Lonato had put the book on the highest shelf, perhaps to avoid upsetting him. Even when he’d grown taller, and better at reading, he’d always skipped it. It was never forbidden- but there was a part of him that was still scared. 

Ashe selects “The Thief and the Dancer,” and tucks it under his arm. It’s a rousing tale, of a gentleman thief who steals from corrupt nobles to benefit the common folk. It’s a real classic in Faerghus, and he knows of at least three drinking songs that pay homage to him. Maybe there’s a way he can do good, just like him. He doesn’t need any drinking songs in his honor, but just he has his friends, which is enough. 

Sometimes, when the two of them would argue too long, he’d pick a book himself. At first, it was the prettiest cover. Later, it became the most interesting title, or one he’d heard the others talking about. Every time, when he’d present it to them, they’d laugh. 

“A very good choice, Ashe,” he can almost hear Lonato say, and just for a second, a faint smile tugs at his lips. He wishes he can hear him say that again, just one more time. From now on, though, he'll have to hold on, for all of them. 

He curls up in a chair, opens the book, and begins to read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this! Many thanks to my friends on twitter, where this idea sort of spitballed into this monster of a fic. I'm very happy everyone stuck with me through this self-indulgent novella. If you'd told me back at launch that the 3H character I'd write my longest ever fic about would be Ashe, I would have laughed, but here we are!
> 
> It was really fun to explore this plotline that got jettisoned from their support line, but that's what fic is for, isn't it? Exploring under developed stuff in canon. Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this fic actually came from FE Awakening, where Gaius was branded/tattooed when he was caught as well. I thought it might makes for an interesting thing to explore with Ashe. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I really wanted to dive deeper into Ashe and Caspar's support line. It really was a missed opportunity that Caspar never found out about his backstory! So when confronted with gaps in canon, I suppose we are morally obligated to fill them ourselves.


End file.
